Cold to the Touch
by thelinksthatconnectus
Summary: As the coronation of the queen of Arrandelle draws closer, Hans learns of it through the only means possible: an ice harvester. Though the prince may not yet enter the kingdom, Kristoff can. Hansoff


Your eyes are on the future, the kingdom laying before you. It gleams like a jewel, though it has yet to be mined. One day it will be released, the gates finally opening up to the world. When it does, you will sleep through and see the place for yourself.

Until then, you have the ice man.

"Why must I stay here?" you ask again.

He frowns, his large nose wrinkling. "Hans, I know that you are probably used to better places than this, but this is all that I have to offer. There is only one other stop at the mountain, some place with a sauna."

"I apologize," you say. You shake your head, looking down to the old wooden floor. Though there is a good enough mattress, hay is spilled out on the floor. "I am just getting anxious." You fiddle with your gloves, yet never take them off. They are dirty now, but you have other pairs. Still, they stick to your hands, providing some protection from this cold, dirty place. "This is my first time dealing with foreign affairs."

You look around the room, surveying everything in it: the worn rug on the far end of the room by the fireplace, the ice harvester, the old wooden decorations on the wall with fine carving in them (what they are you cannot identify exactly, though they look nice enough), and the old door. The inn certainly could be worse, and at least there are no dead animal skins around. It is owned by a kind elderly woman named Gretel and her husband, though you have yet to learn his name, even if you have been here already for some time. Gretel is a wondrous cook, not to mention always happy to share a story of her adventurous youth. She also has more than a few good jokes to share with her guests.

"You see, Kristoff," you continue, looking up to his blue eyes. He stares directly at you, his line of vision never changing. "My brothers always did that. I was too young. They would go off to foreign lands, seeing the world and it's wonder. Oh, they loved to rub that in my face."

He frowns. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need." You stand, the mattress creaking as you do so. "It is a pain of the past, but nothing that I cannot handle. My real worry is meeting the queen."

"The queen," he says, blue eyes shifting away from you. He fiddles with his hands. "The queen, are you going to marry her?" His words come out in a rush. His cheeks flush a very bright shade of red, and he steps away from you.

You close the gap before him, walking forward surely and confidently. You touch his forehead, then rub a lock of blond hair back under his hat. "I do not want to lie to you."

His frown deepens. "Hans-"

"You already knew it was coming."

What a fool, you think. You already knew he was one, and this only further cements the idea in your mind. Why would he ever think that you would not marry her? Did he honestly forget that you were royalty, the thirteenth in line for the throne of the Southern Isles? Even with your place, the very last born of the king's concubine, you were raised around wealth and prestige; your brothers could not take that from you.

"It isn't that." He gives a heavy sigh. "Hans, what if she doesn't agree to marry you?"

You frown. It certainly is a valid question, not to mention the first smart thing that you have ever heard leave his mouth.

"She could have another suitor. I am certain that she already has many after her hand."

You nod. It is certainly true. Word has spread of her, and you know the upcoming coronation will be no small event.

The more he speaks, the smarter that he sounds; perhaps some part of yourself rubbed off on him.

"Will you stay?" He leans forward, his lips only inches from yours. They will, however, not meet. He always asks first, and you do admire him for that. "I promise that once I get my new sled, once I have enough money for it, that my ice business will pick up. I may not be a prince, but I swear to you that I will be as rich, if not even richer, than one."

For once, you truly do feel sorry for him. Not only is he a fool, but a hopeful one, one blind to his foolishness.

"I love you, Hans." He looks directly into your eyes. "You are incredibly handsome, along with one of the kindest people that I have ever met."

That certainly says quite a lot. Before you two had truly known each other, you heard him sing a song about dirty, ugly reindeers being better than people.

"I care so much about you, Hans."

He does speak well enough on love. Before, he mentioned having friends who were love experts, though you have yet to meet them. They might not even exist, but if they do they certainly taught him well.

You lean forward, meeting your lips. In a certain way, he is better than a mirror, as a mirror cannot tell Hans that he is handsome. Nor can a mirror embrace him, keeping him warm throughout all the mountain's cold, snowy nights.

He breaks the kiss. "Won't you please stay with me, Hans?"

You point to the bed behind you. "I am tired."

A small bit of hope runs through his eyes, a faint smile forming on his lips. If he wants to believe that you will return, then let him. He will hardly even matter in the end.

You get into the bed, perfectly designed to fit two.

As you lean closer, your hands first moving over fabric (that comes off all too easily), then skin, you ask him about what he saw while selling ice in Arrandelle that day. He is all too happy to tell you, and you suck every little detail that you possibly can from him.

As every new day passes, you are one day closer to getting this done with. Already, you can imagine the kingdom in your mind.

Outside, in a barn, your horse and that reindeer wait for the next day and what it will bring.

"Hans," the ice harvester says, "you feel so cold."

You have hardly noticed.

He wraps you around him tighter, pulling you to his large chest. "I love you."


End file.
